


Unexpected

by itsmorethanfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, No Mary, PTSD John, Post Season 2, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmorethanfine/pseuds/itsmorethanfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets Sherlock after he's supposed to be dead. Post Reichenbach Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> My vision of what Season Three would have in store for John and Sherlock. Inspired completely by the trailer. I know this is a little late, but sorry.   
> 

“It’s your 30th session, John. I’m only here to help you cope.” John looked at his therapist and raised an eyebrow.

_So dull. How hard it must be for normal people to understand. Right, John?_

John scrunched his eyes shut. It hurt too much: Sherlock’s voice still haunted him, so melodic and deep. His touch still lingered, soft but firm on John’s body.

It was too soon.

He opened his eyes, knowing how pathetic he was going to sound and how desperate he was going to look. “Look, just let me leave, okay? I don’t need this. I’m fine.” He clenched his teeth in frustration. Therapists never worked. All he needed was Sherlock.

“But, John—“

“I SAID I’M FINE!” John yelled, standing up, stumbling, but he gripped his cane tight and stood straight, gathering up whatever humility he still had left.

His therapist didn’t flinch. “Okay. Anytime you wish to talk, John.”

He nodded lightly. Right, like he was going to be doing that anytime soon.

Sherlock laughed in his ear, a soft chuckle; the one that let John know that even people like Sherlock laughed. He breathed in deeply and headed out the building.

It had been 3 years since Sherlock had…. Didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Thank God, Lestrade had called him in for a case. John wasn’t sure he could handle another evening by himself at 221B. He had considered moving out. It was that bad.

Sherlock’s presence was everywhere. The walls, the chair, the kitchen, the bedroom, even the goddamn bathroom. But, he couldn’t just leave it behind. Could he?

“Taxi!” he yelled, sticking an arm out, waiting for a cab to pull up. _A case, John? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?_

John sighed in frustration. It was going to be a long day if he didn’t stop thinking about Sherlock and letting him in.

He didn’t deserve this. Why him of all people? Hadn’t the people he’d lost on the battlefield been lesson enough for him?

All he needed to do was suck it up and move the fuck on. He shouldn’t be wasting his time on a friend who was so selfish that he had killed himself instead of standing up for what he believed in.

*

John glanced at the menu, finding nothing interesting. He needed to look strong enough for Lestrade. He couldn’t handle anymore pity than was already necessary.

After a few grueling seconds, he set down the menu and sighed. He remembered when he had been here with Sherlock that one time after the Baskerville case.

He rubbed his temples, closing his eyes, trying to stop thinking about Sherlock.

The one friend he had actually had, the one that he would have done anything for, and the one that he knew would never leave. And even if he did, he would come back. He would always come back. John knew that.

Except, it had been 3 years.

_Don’t lose hope, John._

John ignored him. He knew that he had to appreciate all the care and concern and _pity_ he was getting from people that cared: Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade and even fucking Mycroft. Not to mention Donovan and Anderson.

But, he didn’t want it. None of it. Sometimes, he just wanted to yell and scream. “TAKE BACK YOUR FUCKING PITY, I DON’T WANT IT. YOU CAN TAKE IT AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ARSES FOR ALL I CARE!”

But, he didn’t. Because all he had wanted was that one miracle. “ _Just this one miracle for me, Sherlock, please. I’m begging you. I was so alone and I owe you so much.”_

It was worse during the night. Images of Sherlock’s headstone, his face covered with blood flashed through his mind.

John closed his eyes again. He couldn’t afford to lose control again, not again.

Hadn’t he thought that he was going to leave all the bloodshed, all the violent deaths behind?

Sherlock’s laugh echoed through his head again. _The problem is you care too much, John._

His eyes shot open and he leaned back in his chair to comfort himself. He knew that he tried to look strong on the outside, but no one, no one, not even Mrs. Hudson, could even _begin_ to imagine how broken he was inside. He closed his eyes again and as though set on automatic, Sherlock’s head popped into his head.

He needed to let it go. All of it. Everything.

But, he needed just one last goodbye. He pictured Sherlock’s familiar blue-green eyes, his perfect curls and his mysterious cheekbones. He never once imagined that he was going to miss someone as much as he missed Sherlock now. Everything about him, from the stupid long coat that he wore to his elegant fingers.

His idiotic face, his deep voice, his sarcastic comments, his “too-good-for-you” attitude, his obsession with everything difficult…. John could go on and on.

Especially the way he said John’s name.

_Hello, John._

John raised his eyebrows and felt the familiar feeling of his chest tightening. His mind had gotten so used to hearing Sherlock call his name that he constantly had to remind himself that it wasn’t real. No matter how vivid it was.

He probably needed to start talking to someone that could help him before his hallucinations got too out of hand.

Like his therapist.

But, right now, he needed to pull it together. “Goodbye Sherlock. Thank you for everything.” He smiled slightly, before grinning like an idiot, feeling lighter than he had in the past 3 years. Maybe he could do this.

He slowly opened his eyes and his smile instantly vanished as he found himself staring into blue-green eyes that he could recognize almost as easily as his own.

“No. NO,” he muttered and shut his eyes quickly. Wasn’t he letting GO of everything? How could he still be seeing Sherlock if he had already said goodbye?

He tentatively opened his eyes again, but hologram Sherlock was still there, wearing that heart aching smirk that John was so used to. No way could he be real. John had seen him jump off the building himself. With his own eyes.

John raised his hand to strike at the image. How _dare_ he fucking mess with his thoughts even after all this? But, before he could reach his face, fake-Sherlock caught it. The grip on John’s arm felt real. It felt alive and exhilarating like it always had whenever Sherlock touched him. Or grazed him even. Even when he passed by him.

Sherlock leaned forward. “Hello, John.”

“No, no, no, no. This can’t be--,” John gasped for breath. He searched Sherlock’s face for anything that could give him away.

Not even the slightest trace.

“You’re….alive,” he said faintly, his heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour.

“Yes, I—“

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock raised his eyebrow this time. It was all so _real_. It was all _actually happening_.

“I said, shut up. Don’t you even dare start saying anything. 3 years, it’s been. _3 fucking years._ And you just _show up_ , like it’s nobody’s business. Do you have _any_ damn idea how hopelessly LOST I was?” John said, all the surprise and shock now giving way to anger.

“John, let me—“

“Shut up! I said shut up! I don’t want to hear anything from you!” yelled John, standing up, breaking free of Sherlock’s grip. The entire restaurant went quiet, but he couldn’t care any less. What was a little more attention?

“John, people are staring,” Sherlock said, unfazed. Calm and composed, just like always. It only made John angrier.

“We are fucking done here,” he hissed and walked out the hotel, stomping the ground with all the force he could muster to make a point.

He even brushed past a surprised Lestrade (“John, where---- SHERLOCK?”) and made his way down the street, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

The nerve. The _fucking_ nerve.

“John! JOHN! Listen to me for a second, will you!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. His face was apologetic, but John was livid.

“I’m sorry, John.”

“Sorry? Do you think that’s EVER going to make up for all the pain you put me through? Huh, Sherlock Holmes? Huh? Answer me dammit!”

Sherlock looked at the ground and shook his head slowly. “No, it’s not and I’m sorry.”

John searched Sherlock’s face to find something that wasn’t real about him, anything that would give him away, but once again: fucking nothing.

“You are impossible. You are fucking _insane_! You are a goddamn machin—“

But, before he could continue, Sherlock pulled him into a kiss, his lips soft on the other man’s, his hand gently cupping John’s face. He pulled away and looked sheepish but grinned at John’s expression anyway.

“I’m sorry, John. I’m really sorry. I will make it up to you. I just… I love you, okay? I love you. Please don’t leave me. I need you.”

  _I love you._


End file.
